Alexander/Hephaistion Alphabet Challenge - "Scarred by guilt"
Title: Scarred by guilt, part 3
Pairing: Alexander/Hephaistion
Rating: R
Warnings: m/m slash, angst,
Beta: the wonderful piximyr
Word Count: 3,000 for this part
A/N: Written for the Alexander Alphabet Challenge. As usual, my writing falls to the emotional side rather than the historical, since I claim to know nothing about actual history.
-beautiful banner by namida_no_ame -
Hephaistion jumped up from his cot, struggling with the sheets that had wrapped themselves around him in his sleep. Reaching the chamber pot in the corner just in time to empty the contents of his rolling stomach, he continued to heave even after there was only bile left to bring up. His hair hung in ropes around his face, his throat burning and face aching. He didn’t know whether to blame the sword that had struck him, or the empty wine bottle that lay on its side beside the bed, for the massive aches and pains he was feeling.
Limping his way back to his cot, he dropped heavily down. The sheets were still sweat-damp, a result of his restless slumber, but he didn’t care enough to even try to arrange them so the moisture didn’t lay against his hot skin. His night had been fitful to say the least, his body tossing and turning, much worse when he rolled to his left side and the pillow touched the bandage on his face.
He was tired and sore to the point of delirium, even have awakened in the middle of the night and imagining a figure huddled beside his bed; a figure that very much resembled Alexander. He’d tried to focus, tried to clear his bleary eyes, and pull himself up to get a better look, but had quickly passed out again, his mind assuring him he was mistaken. If Alexander had ventured out to see him, surely he would have woken him up.
♞ ♔ ♞ ♔ ♞
Alexander awoke at his desk, his head resting on the pile of papers he’d been trying to focus on before he lost his fight with Hypnos. It was barely dawn, the sun only casting a warm, orange hue over his tent as he rose and stretched his tired, aching frame. He didn’t know how long he’d slept, but it couldn’t have been long since he’d spent most of the night huddled against the inside wall of Hephaistion’s tent. He hadn’t been able to stay away, but at the same time, he still hadn’t had the words to explain his behavior, let alone apologize for something that had clearly hurt Hephaistion.
His beloved hadn’t slept much, either, his bed a cacophony of moans and groans accompanied by the squirming and writhing of his body. He’d actually cried out in pain several times, the sound breaking Alexander’s heart into even smaller pieces. During one such outburst, Hephaistion seemed to look straight into Alexander’s eyes, causing him to do some squirming of his own as he tried to sink deeper into the ground on which he sat. It had only been the dimness of the tent and the distortedness of Hephaistion’s vision that had saved him as his beloved succumbed once again to his uncomfortable doze.
Alexander had been greatly challenged to not slip under the blankets with Hephaistion, to not slide an arm beneath his shoulders and drag him into his arms. He wanted to hold him, yearned to feel the strength of his strong body cradled against him, longed to stroke the long hair from his face and try to sweep away the pain of the day. He wanted to kiss the ravages of battle from Hephaistion’s memory, to take away the wounds that kept him awake and churning in his bed. If he could have taken Hephaistion’s injury upon himself, he wouldn’t have hesitated for a moment.
It had taken everything he had inside him to not rush to Hephaistion’s side when he struggled to the chamber pot in the corner, every fiber of Alexander’s being calling out for him to hold back Hephaistion’s hair, softly rub his back and comfort him as he retched. That’s when Alexander had slunk from the tent, his tail firmly planted between his legs, afraid to be caught in the act. He was being a coward and he knew it, but at that moment the alternative was out of the question. Explaining to Hephaistion the reason that Alexander had turned away from him during the day was small compared to the thought of telling him why he was in his tent sneaking away into the darkness.
He had so much to say, but not one thought in his head to help him figure out how to go about doing so.
♞ ♔ ♞ ♔ ♞
Ptolemy stuck his head into Hephaistion’s tent just as the doctor was changing his dressing. Hephaistion heard him suck in his breath just before a big hand lay gently on his shoulder.
“Seems you were luckier than I realized,” Ptolemy’s comforting voice said, maintaining a grip on Hephaistion’s shoulder, his fingers stroking gently as his friend’s body tensed. He tried to keep his face stoic and calm as he leaned over and examined the deep gashes over Hephaistion’s eye and on his cheek. He eyed up the doctor suspiciously. “Did ya give him a cup of wine before you started?”
Hephaistion groaned, not so much at the pulling of the doctor’s fingers on his face, but at Ptolemy’s words. “No wine,” he groaned, the mere thought sending waves of nausea up and down his spine. “Have you news, Ptolemy? Or is this a personal visit?”
“Can it not be both?” Ptolemy teased.
Hephaistion covered his friend’s hand. “How does it look?”
“I won’t lie to you, Hephaisiton, it’s not pretty, but you’re alive and I’ve no doubt you’ll will heal quickly. Don’t worry your head about it, you’ll be back to being the prettiest man in the army in no time.”
Shooting Ptolemy the nastiest look he could muster, Hephaistion couldn’t help smirking at the comical grin on his friend’s face. “Being pretty was never one of the highlights of my life, and, to be honest, a change in my looks might make things easier.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to throw myself on my sword, and volunteer to be the token male that all the lovely ladies can chase after.”
Hephaition snorted, thankful for Ptolemy’s wit and humor, especially considering his mood was so low. He’d waited all morning for Alexander to show himself, not having the strength to seek him out, and perhaps, being a little wary of doing so. He knew Alexander was busy, knew he was plotting and planning the army’s next move, as well as visiting the grieving. He was a good king, a good man, and Hephaistion expected nothing less of him, but it was Hephaistion who usually accompanied him on his rounds, and he couldn’t help feeling more than a little upset by yet another slight on Alexander’s part.
The physician secured the bandage around Hephaistion’s head, again, rising to clear up his things as Hephaistion pushed damp hair from his face. “Do you need anything for the pain, Hephaistion? Or did that empty bottle of wine by your bed do the trick last night?”
With Ptolemy snickering behind him, Hephaistion thanked the doctor and yanked a clean chiton over his head, gasping as the edge caught the top of the bandage. Ptolemy saved him as he struggled with the garment, gently pulling it past the dressing and smoothing it down around his shoulders. “I think you need an assistant to dress you. Perhaps a lovely young thing or a ... loyal king?”
Hephaistion yanked his arm away from Ptolemy, the words cutting him unexpectedly to the core. His friend was the only one truly privy to the relationship that Hephaistion and Alexander shared, the only one they talked openly about it to. Usually, he wasn’t bothered when Ptolemy teased, but today was not a usual day. “Do you not have some duties to perform elsewhere, Ptolemy?”
Ptolemy picked up the empty bottle, swinging it between his fingers in Hephaistion’s direction. “You never were a man who could bounce back quickly after a night of imbibing.”
“I implore you to keep your comments to yourself,” Hephaistion hissed, turning his back to his friend and crossing to the entrance of the tent. “How are the men holding up? We lost far too many for it not to have an impact on moral.”
“Always thinking about others instead of yourself,” Ptolemy returned, joining Hephaistion as he looked out into the brightness of the day. “That’s both a noble trait and a character flaw, my friend.”
“About those duties, Ptolemy ...”
“Fine. If that’s your choice, I’ll get on with my task then.” Ptolemy paused, his chin dipping down to his chest, feet shuffling slightly as he sought his next words.
Hephaistion noticed the pause and the shuffling, and turned to Ptolemy, cocking his head to the side. “What are you not telling? Has something happened?”
Ptolemy shook his head, then thought better of it and looked up into Hephaistion’s jeweled eyes. “Only if you consider our king losing his mind as something of importance.”
“Whatever are you talking about?”
“Come away from the door,” Ptolemy urged, cupping Hephaistion’s elbow and leading him back to the bed. He motioned for Hephaistion to sit down, then settled his body beside him on the edge. “I’ve orders for you, Hephaistion.”
Hephaistion licked his lips, brushing a fallen wave of hair from his eyes. He knew Ptolemy wasn’t acting in a normal manner. He wasn’t his usually laid-back self and that made Hephaistion suddenly very nervous. “You’re bringing me my orders now? Why was I not summoned to receive them myself? What’s going on, Ptolemy?”
Huffing out a big sighing breath, Ptolemy shook his head and continued. “That’s part of the orders, Hephaistion, that you remain in your tent until you’ve properly healed.”
“What?” Hephaistion’s mouth dropped open, his eyes snapping from soft cerulean to deep navy in mere seconds. “I’ve been confined to my tent because I have an injury? What of the other men that I see limping their way around camp?”
“None of them are as important in the king’s eyes, I suppose.”
“That’s preposterous! Surely he does not intend to keep me hostage in my own tent so no one has to look upon me? His own father was brutally maimed and I do not recall Alexander ever saying he should not be seen.”
“Whoa.” Ptolemy placed a gentle hand on Hephaistion’s shoulder. “I’m not following your way of thought, Hephaistion.”
Hephaistion shrugged the hand off, flinging his body up from the bed. He strode quickly to the other end of the tent, then turned and barreled back towards Ptolemy. “Answer me this, Ptolemy. Have I been a fool my entire life or is this some recent affliction that I’ve come upon?” he seethed, bending until his face was inches from his friend’s. “Have I ducked and weaved away from all the petty rumors and ponderings for my whole life, only to now discover that I am simply the pretty face that Alexander takes to his bed? Am I now to be shunned from the inner circle because my beauty does not live up to my reputation any longer? How have I been so wrong in my assumptions that Alexander views me as a worthy companion and not merely a whore to line his bed with?”
Ptolemy rose quickly, grabbing Hephaistion and securing him against his chest. He held tight as his friend’s heart beat rapidly against him. “He’s worried about you, Hephaistion, and I can assure you that nothing you’ve just said is true.”
“Then why, Ptolemy?” Hephaistion pushed hard against the larger man’s chest, shoving him backwards and backing up until his body hit the opposite side of his tent. He felt as if the wine was still coursing through his veins, making his head spin with confusion, making him weak and distraught. “Why is he punishing me for something I had no control over? Why is he rejecting me purely on the basis that I’m no longer unflawed?”
“He’s not rejecting you at all. How you look has no bearing on anything that he’s feeling. He’s scared to death of losing you.”
Hephaistion managed a disgruntled snort, letting his body slide down the wall of the tent until his bottom was firmly planted on the ground. He knew he was being overly dramatic, not to mention overly emotional, both traits that did not invade his demeanor often, but at the same time, those were the only things keeping him somewhat sane in his own mind.
“So hiding me away will allow him to hold onto me?” He snorted again, swiping a misty film from his eyes. “Does he plan on making me his General of Correspondence, as well now?”
Ptolemy looked away, but not fast enough that Hephaistion missed the look of guilt that clouded his eyes. “That’s his intention?” he hissed, voice wrought with disbelief. He pushed himself from the ground, his bare feet slapping to attention when he was upright. “That’s not amusing, Ptolemy,” he said softly. “I’ve not the patience for your teasing ways at the moment.”
“I tried to reason with him,” Ptolemy whispered, threading his fingers through his mass of curls. “But you know how he is ... stubborn and unmoving when he’s made a decision that he feels is right and just.”
“Right and just? How can he ... or you ... even think that ... that ... I’d agree to something like that, let alone think it’s anything but an absurd notion in its entirety?” Hephaistion moved past his friend, letting himself drop heavily to the edge of the bed, again. “If I’m to be used as nothing more than a mere secretary, then my time with the army appears to be done. I’ll not be treated like a helpless female or personal assistant by Alexander or anyone else.”
“You were struck in the face, Hephaistion,” Ptolemy replied. “Alexander’s head is filled with the implications and atrocities that could have arisen because of that. His mind sees you lying dead on the battlefield, your face mangled beyond recognition while the blood and life seeps from your body.”
“That’s what he told you?” Ptolemy nodded, seating himself on the edge of the bed. “But he never said anything to me about it.”
“How could he? He’s distraught with guilt over what could have happened. He cannot confide that he fears and dreams that he’s sending you to your fated death every time a battle is in sight.”
“I’m a soldier, Ptolemy. I have only two priorities in my life, Alexander and the army. I cannot be sent to my tent to read scrolls and letters while my friends and my men risk their very lives. Alexander has to know that. He has to know that I wake each day with nothing but his well-being in my head and my heart.”
“I believe you are well suited in that regard then. Just think about what I’ve told you Hephaistion. Think about the dilemma that Alexander goes through each time he sends you off. Think about your feelings for him, then try and remember that he has the exact same ones for you. Please think about all that before you strike out at him in anger because, in the end, you both want the same things ... each other.”
Pairing: Alexander/Hephaistion
Rating: R
Warnings: m/m slash, angst,
Beta: the wonderful piximyr
Word Count: 3,000 for this part
A/N: Written for the Alexander Alphabet Challenge. As usual, my writing falls to the emotional side rather than the historical, since I claim to know nothing about actual history.
-beautiful banner by namida_no_ame -
Hephaistion jumped up from his cot, struggling with the sheets that had wrapped themselves around him in his sleep. Reaching the chamber pot in the corner just in time to empty the contents of his rolling stomach, he continued to heave even after there was only bile left to bring up. His hair hung in ropes around his face, his throat burning and face aching. He didn’t know whether to blame the sword that had struck him, or the empty wine bottle that lay on its side beside the bed, for the massive aches and pains he was feeling.
Limping his way back to his cot, he dropped heavily down. The sheets were still sweat-damp, a result of his restless slumber, but he didn’t care enough to even try to arrange them so the moisture didn’t lay against his hot skin. His night had been fitful to say the least, his body tossing and turning, much worse when he rolled to his left side and the pillow touched the bandage on his face.
He was tired and sore to the point of delirium, even have awakened in the middle of the night and imagining a figure huddled beside his bed; a figure that very much resembled Alexander. He’d tried to focus, tried to clear his bleary eyes, and pull himself up to get a better look, but had quickly passed out again, his mind assuring him he was mistaken. If Alexander had ventured out to see him, surely he would have woken him up.
♞ ♔ ♞ ♔ ♞
Alexander awoke at his desk, his head resting on the pile of papers he’d been trying to focus on before he lost his fight with Hypnos. It was barely dawn, the sun only casting a warm, orange hue over his tent as he rose and stretched his tired, aching frame. He didn’t know how long he’d slept, but it couldn’t have been long since he’d spent most of the night huddled against the inside wall of Hephaistion’s tent. He hadn’t been able to stay away, but at the same time, he still hadn’t had the words to explain his behavior, let alone apologize for something that had clearly hurt Hephaistion.
His beloved hadn’t slept much, either, his bed a cacophony of moans and groans accompanied by the squirming and writhing of his body. He’d actually cried out in pain several times, the sound breaking Alexander’s heart into even smaller pieces. During one such outburst, Hephaistion seemed to look straight into Alexander’s eyes, causing him to do some squirming of his own as he tried to sink deeper into the ground on which he sat. It had only been the dimness of the tent and the distortedness of Hephaistion’s vision that had saved him as his beloved succumbed once again to his uncomfortable doze.
Alexander had been greatly challenged to not slip under the blankets with Hephaistion, to not slide an arm beneath his shoulders and drag him into his arms. He wanted to hold him, yearned to feel the strength of his strong body cradled against him, longed to stroke the long hair from his face and try to sweep away the pain of the day. He wanted to kiss the ravages of battle from Hephaistion’s memory, to take away the wounds that kept him awake and churning in his bed. If he could have taken Hephaistion’s injury upon himself, he wouldn’t have hesitated for a moment.
It had taken everything he had inside him to not rush to Hephaistion’s side when he struggled to the chamber pot in the corner, every fiber of Alexander’s being calling out for him to hold back Hephaistion’s hair, softly rub his back and comfort him as he retched. That’s when Alexander had slunk from the tent, his tail firmly planted between his legs, afraid to be caught in the act. He was being a coward and he knew it, but at that moment the alternative was out of the question. Explaining to Hephaistion the reason that Alexander had turned away from him during the day was small compared to the thought of telling him why he was in his tent sneaking away into the darkness.
He had so much to say, but not one thought in his head to help him figure out how to go about doing so.
♞ ♔ ♞ ♔ ♞
Ptolemy stuck his head into Hephaistion’s tent just as the doctor was changing his dressing. Hephaistion heard him suck in his breath just before a big hand lay gently on his shoulder.
“Seems you were luckier than I realized,” Ptolemy’s comforting voice said, maintaining a grip on Hephaistion’s shoulder, his fingers stroking gently as his friend’s body tensed. He tried to keep his face stoic and calm as he leaned over and examined the deep gashes over Hephaistion’s eye and on his cheek. He eyed up the doctor suspiciously. “Did ya give him a cup of wine before you started?”
Hephaistion groaned, not so much at the pulling of the doctor’s fingers on his face, but at Ptolemy’s words. “No wine,” he groaned, the mere thought sending waves of nausea up and down his spine. “Have you news, Ptolemy? Or is this a personal visit?”
“Can it not be both?” Ptolemy teased.
Hephaistion covered his friend’s hand. “How does it look?”
“I won’t lie to you, Hephaisiton, it’s not pretty, but you’re alive and I’ve no doubt you’ll will heal quickly. Don’t worry your head about it, you’ll be back to being the prettiest man in the army in no time.”
Shooting Ptolemy the nastiest look he could muster, Hephaistion couldn’t help smirking at the comical grin on his friend’s face. “Being pretty was never one of the highlights of my life, and, to be honest, a change in my looks might make things easier.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to throw myself on my sword, and volunteer to be the token male that all the lovely ladies can chase after.”
Hephaition snorted, thankful for Ptolemy’s wit and humor, especially considering his mood was so low. He’d waited all morning for Alexander to show himself, not having the strength to seek him out, and perhaps, being a little wary of doing so. He knew Alexander was busy, knew he was plotting and planning the army’s next move, as well as visiting the grieving. He was a good king, a good man, and Hephaistion expected nothing less of him, but it was Hephaistion who usually accompanied him on his rounds, and he couldn’t help feeling more than a little upset by yet another slight on Alexander’s part.
The physician secured the bandage around Hephaistion’s head, again, rising to clear up his things as Hephaistion pushed damp hair from his face. “Do you need anything for the pain, Hephaistion? Or did that empty bottle of wine by your bed do the trick last night?”
With Ptolemy snickering behind him, Hephaistion thanked the doctor and yanked a clean chiton over his head, gasping as the edge caught the top of the bandage. Ptolemy saved him as he struggled with the garment, gently pulling it past the dressing and smoothing it down around his shoulders. “I think you need an assistant to dress you. Perhaps a lovely young thing or a ... loyal king?”
Hephaistion yanked his arm away from Ptolemy, the words cutting him unexpectedly to the core. His friend was the only one truly privy to the relationship that Hephaistion and Alexander shared, the only one they talked openly about it to. Usually, he wasn’t bothered when Ptolemy teased, but today was not a usual day. “Do you not have some duties to perform elsewhere, Ptolemy?”
Ptolemy picked up the empty bottle, swinging it between his fingers in Hephaistion’s direction. “You never were a man who could bounce back quickly after a night of imbibing.”
“I implore you to keep your comments to yourself,” Hephaistion hissed, turning his back to his friend and crossing to the entrance of the tent. “How are the men holding up? We lost far too many for it not to have an impact on moral.”
“Always thinking about others instead of yourself,” Ptolemy returned, joining Hephaistion as he looked out into the brightness of the day. “That’s both a noble trait and a character flaw, my friend.”
“About those duties, Ptolemy ...”
“Fine. If that’s your choice, I’ll get on with my task then.” Ptolemy paused, his chin dipping down to his chest, feet shuffling slightly as he sought his next words.
Hephaistion noticed the pause and the shuffling, and turned to Ptolemy, cocking his head to the side. “What are you not telling? Has something happened?”
Ptolemy shook his head, then thought better of it and looked up into Hephaistion’s jeweled eyes. “Only if you consider our king losing his mind as something of importance.”
“Whatever are you talking about?”
“Come away from the door,” Ptolemy urged, cupping Hephaistion’s elbow and leading him back to the bed. He motioned for Hephaistion to sit down, then settled his body beside him on the edge. “I’ve orders for you, Hephaistion.”
Hephaistion licked his lips, brushing a fallen wave of hair from his eyes. He knew Ptolemy wasn’t acting in a normal manner. He wasn’t his usually laid-back self and that made Hephaistion suddenly very nervous. “You’re bringing me my orders now? Why was I not summoned to receive them myself? What’s going on, Ptolemy?”
Huffing out a big sighing breath, Ptolemy shook his head and continued. “That’s part of the orders, Hephaistion, that you remain in your tent until you’ve properly healed.”
“What?” Hephaistion’s mouth dropped open, his eyes snapping from soft cerulean to deep navy in mere seconds. “I’ve been confined to my tent because I have an injury? What of the other men that I see limping their way around camp?”
“None of them are as important in the king’s eyes, I suppose.”
“That’s preposterous! Surely he does not intend to keep me hostage in my own tent so no one has to look upon me? His own father was brutally maimed and I do not recall Alexander ever saying he should not be seen.”
“Whoa.” Ptolemy placed a gentle hand on Hephaistion’s shoulder. “I’m not following your way of thought, Hephaistion.”
Hephaistion shrugged the hand off, flinging his body up from the bed. He strode quickly to the other end of the tent, then turned and barreled back towards Ptolemy. “Answer me this, Ptolemy. Have I been a fool my entire life or is this some recent affliction that I’ve come upon?” he seethed, bending until his face was inches from his friend’s. “Have I ducked and weaved away from all the petty rumors and ponderings for my whole life, only to now discover that I am simply the pretty face that Alexander takes to his bed? Am I now to be shunned from the inner circle because my beauty does not live up to my reputation any longer? How have I been so wrong in my assumptions that Alexander views me as a worthy companion and not merely a whore to line his bed with?”
Ptolemy rose quickly, grabbing Hephaistion and securing him against his chest. He held tight as his friend’s heart beat rapidly against him. “He’s worried about you, Hephaistion, and I can assure you that nothing you’ve just said is true.”
“Then why, Ptolemy?” Hephaistion pushed hard against the larger man’s chest, shoving him backwards and backing up until his body hit the opposite side of his tent. He felt as if the wine was still coursing through his veins, making his head spin with confusion, making him weak and distraught. “Why is he punishing me for something I had no control over? Why is he rejecting me purely on the basis that I’m no longer unflawed?”
“He’s not rejecting you at all. How you look has no bearing on anything that he’s feeling. He’s scared to death of losing you.”
Hephaistion managed a disgruntled snort, letting his body slide down the wall of the tent until his bottom was firmly planted on the ground. He knew he was being overly dramatic, not to mention overly emotional, both traits that did not invade his demeanor often, but at the same time, those were the only things keeping him somewhat sane in his own mind.
“So hiding me away will allow him to hold onto me?” He snorted again, swiping a misty film from his eyes. “Does he plan on making me his General of Correspondence, as well now?”
Ptolemy looked away, but not fast enough that Hephaistion missed the look of guilt that clouded his eyes. “That’s his intention?” he hissed, voice wrought with disbelief. He pushed himself from the ground, his bare feet slapping to attention when he was upright. “That’s not amusing, Ptolemy,” he said softly. “I’ve not the patience for your teasing ways at the moment.”
“I tried to reason with him,” Ptolemy whispered, threading his fingers through his mass of curls. “But you know how he is ... stubborn and unmoving when he’s made a decision that he feels is right and just.”
“Right and just? How can he ... or you ... even think that ... that ... I’d agree to something like that, let alone think it’s anything but an absurd notion in its entirety?” Hephaistion moved past his friend, letting himself drop heavily to the edge of the bed, again. “If I’m to be used as nothing more than a mere secretary, then my time with the army appears to be done. I’ll not be treated like a helpless female or personal assistant by Alexander or anyone else.”
“You were struck in the face, Hephaistion,” Ptolemy replied. “Alexander’s head is filled with the implications and atrocities that could have arisen because of that. His mind sees you lying dead on the battlefield, your face mangled beyond recognition while the blood and life seeps from your body.”
“That’s what he told you?” Ptolemy nodded, seating himself on the edge of the bed. “But he never said anything to me about it.”
“How could he? He’s distraught with guilt over what could have happened. He cannot confide that he fears and dreams that he’s sending you to your fated death every time a battle is in sight.”
“I’m a soldier, Ptolemy. I have only two priorities in my life, Alexander and the army. I cannot be sent to my tent to read scrolls and letters while my friends and my men risk their very lives. Alexander has to know that. He has to know that I wake each day with nothing but his well-being in my head and my heart.”
“I believe you are well suited in that regard then. Just think about what I’ve told you Hephaistion. Think about the dilemma that Alexander goes through each time he sends you off. Think about your feelings for him, then try and remember that he has the exact same ones for you. Please think about all that before you strike out at him in anger because, in the end, you both want the same things ... each other.”